Shell
by Dragonflys-Girl
Summary: There were no tears that day as she watched him walked away.  [MacStella]


Title: Shell

Author: Ki

Rating: PG

Category: Angst, Romance… One-sided, at least

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't sue please

Spoilers: All up to Season 3, major spoiler for Season 3 Finale... If you haven't noticed, I don' t like the idea of Mac and Peyton

A/N: I haven't written for so long, and I kinda miss it. Hopefully I still know how to write…

* * *

She stood back with a smile on her face. She stood back, while he walked away with his girlfriend, with a smile on her face.

They had experienced so much together. She felt they were so close yet at the same time so far apart. There was always an illusion, a fantasy, a glimmer of hope, that one day, he would be hers and she would be his.

Not anymore.

She had been the first to know of their relationship. It was that day when the two had been in his office talking. He thought she hadn't noticed how tenderly he was brushing her cheek as she rounded the corner, but she did. Oh, how clearly she had, and her heart shattered into a million pieces.

She convinced herself to think that it was for the best, that a woman with as dark, as complicated, as troubled background as she did was not worthy of his love, and he would be better off being with a pathologist who an accent and an attitude.

She had witnessed the blossoming of their relationship after the rough patch. He had come to her that night, the night he made a promise to another woman to work on their relationship, and gave her a play by play of the day he had met her. He sought her advice, her opinions, on how best to woo his girlfriend, and she obliged.

It had always been one of the things she treasured most in their relationship: their openness with one another; their constant support for one another in time of need. It had always been their implicit agreement, that the other would always be welcome on their couch, in their living room, in their dining room, simply to talk, to get a new perspective, to seek honest advice.

She couldn't deny him that, no, she couldn't. So, that night, she sat on her couch, letting every word out of his mouth slice through her and take a piece of her soul with him. She sat, as the good friend that she was, that he expected of her, and offered him her interpretation, her support, her loyalty.

He had left a satisfied man that night, she knew. Because before he left her apartment, he turned around and hugged her, murmuring in her ears that he was glad he found such a wonderful best friend.

Thankfully she could hold back her tears until she had closed the door, sealing herself in her apartment. Once the first drop fell, there was no holding back. She didn't know she had that much tears in her, but she knew it would not be the first night she would cry herself to sleep.

Conveniently, she had the next day off, and while she hated being alone in her apartment and replaying their talk from the night before, she could not mutter up enough energy to leave her apartment. She needed time to recuperate, to find her footing before she had to be affronted with the image of him with another woman.

After Claire, she had been by his side shouldering his pain, his doubt, his loneliness. It had become her mission to make him happy, to see him relax and smile and to restore his life back to normal as much as possible.

Her feelings for him had developed well before the Towers fell, but she was a loyal friend and a just woman. She would not allow herself to be The Other Woman. After the tragedies, she was constantly by his side, waiting for the day he would be ready, for the day he would welcome her in his life as more than a loyal friend.

Yet, now, she knew it was not meant to be. As he walked away with the dark-haired pathologist and announced that he would be going to England with her – something he had ceased doing since he lost Claire – she knew, her fantasy would never come true.

There were no tears that day as she watched him walked away. She hoped her smile was believable enough that others wouldn't question her, but really, she felt numb. As Mac Taylor walked away with her heart and her soul, she had ceased to be. She would continue to do her job, continue to be with her friends: thus was her nature, but she knew. The moment Mac Taylor put his arm around Peyton Driscoll, Stella Bonasera had become a mere shell of the woman she once had been.


End file.
